


After Hours

by Lady_Therion



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Summer (2008)
Genre: Anyelle, F/M, Shelle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4626075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Therion/pseuds/Lady_Therion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet at a coffee shop, and nothing is ever the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have other things to write, but this plot bunny was pretty insistent. There just needs to be more Shelle! I have a pretty good idea of where it’ll go, but it’s also open for prompts :)
> 
> Trigger warnings are: blood and assault. What, you thought this was just going to be straight fluff? Get outta toooown...

* * *

 

On weekends, Shaun busses tables for a café on Bailey Street. Just a little ways off from a paper mill, it sees a steady stream of workers at all hours—most of them careworn and hard-hearted. A few are regulars and call out a gruff “ _All right, Shaun?_ ” and “ _Another cuppa, Shaun_ ” whenever he makes his rounds. Overall, Shaun doesn’t mind. The work is light and the pay is fair.

And of course, there’s _her_.

She comes in every Saturday—three sharp, like clockwork. Always with a dog-eared paperback in hand. Always done up in tweed coats and smart heels. She doesn’t look like she works at the factory, but she comes in just the same. _Belle French_. He knows because of the receipts she leaves at her table.

She takes her tea with a spot of honey, and smiles as he stammers his way through asking if she would like anything else. It’s a kind smile that warms him from the inside out, and he wishes he could talk to her proper without being such a tit. He can’t help it though, because she looks at him in a way that makes him feel like _he is there._

She doesn’t know any of this of course, and Shaun doesn’t ever plan on telling her. There’s no reason that a posh lass like that can’t get a bloke with more going for him than bussing tables or filling gas.

Still, Shaun has a reason to look forward to weekends.

Until one day when Belle does not arrive.

She’s never been late before, and there is an unsettling feeling that dogs him throughout the afternoon.

Worry bleeds into dread as three o’clock passes…four o’clock passes…and suddenly it is late into the evening and the paper mill is sounding off its last whistle.

He knows he’s acting daffy. But every time the door swings open, his eyes dart around like an eager pet waiting for its owner to come home. Shaun has no disillusions: he doesn’t belong to anybody. It’s pathetic. He knows this. Still, he watches and waits.

It doesn’t escape the notice of the wait staff either. “ _Bloody hell Shaun. Mind what you’re doin’_ ” and “ _Why don’t you take off early, Shaun? You look done in._ ” So he changes out of his uniform and heads out into the muggy night.

His bus won’t arrive for another hour, and Shaun wonders if he should call Daniel for a lift. Briefly, he also considers going to the pub. His mind is electrified with too many distractions – most of them being soft smiles and paperback books.

Then he hears a quiet little moan somewhere far off.

Again, that unsettling feeling dogs at him. Squaring his shoulders, he follows the noise into a dark alley. His steps are tense and measured. Though there is nothing here but bins and shadows, he can’t ignore the ugly knot at the back of his neck. It pinches him. _There is something terribly wrong here_.

Then he sees a familiar tweed coat.

“Shite!”

His heart races as he stumbles forward to find Belle lying on her side. A patch of blood blooms around her stomach and her face is spoiled by dark bruises. She is trying to tell him something, he realizes. But her voice does not go above a whisper.

“Don’t talk, love,” he says, hurriedly.

He lifts her into his arms as gently as he can—one hand beneath her knees, the other beneath her shoulders. Her blue eyes capture his before her head rolls to the side and rests against his chest. It is the first time Shaun notices how small she is, and he is flooded by a mean urge to protect her from the ugliness of everything.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, now…”


	2. Watching Over Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to hear from other Shelle shippers out there! Even the nurses ship Shelle in this chapter.

For three days, Shaun sits by her bedside.

He doesn’t know if he should…but then, no one else comes in during visiting hours.

“That’s a bit strange, innit?” This from a young nurse who comes in every so often to change Belle’s IV. “You’d think her family would come ‘round by now…It’s a good thing she’s got _you_ to look after her, eh?”  She winks at him when she says this, and Shaun _blushes like a bleedin’ choob._

All the nurses were like that, ever since he burst into the emergency room alongside Belle’s gurney. He never makes it past the doors of the operating wing because he isn’t family—but he stays behind all the same. A police officer approaches him afterwards and he spends the rest of that night answering questions.

_Where did you find her?_

_Did you see who did this?_

_Do you two know each other?_

Shaun doesn’t like talking to the police, and the last question doesn’t do anything to change his mind. He can’t stop the familiar burn in his cheeks and ears when he says, “No, I just seen her in my shop is all.” He almost adds, “What’s it to you?” but he doesn’t want to cock things up by giving them cheek. His record’s not the cleanest and for all they know, it was _him_ that beat her bloody.

He _just_ wants to know if Belle will be all right.

As it turns out, she would be— _thank God_. And it wasn’t long before the story of his good deed makes its way around the nurses’ station. 

“If it isn’t her handsome hero,” says the charge nurse that signs him in the next morning.

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m no’— I was just…anyone woulda done it.”

The charge nurse gives him a look that says “ _aye, sure_ ” and points to the paper bouquet in his hand. “That’s a pretty lot.”

“Ah well…”

The flowers were pure crap, sad little violets from the grocer. He wishes he could have got one of the nicer ones, but he doesn’t have much change to spare these days. Looking at them now under the dull florescent lights, he isn’t sure that Belle will appreciate them either. She doesn’t even _know_ him, not really.

May not be a smart thing to do, he may as well just scare her off. But it feels like the _right_ thing to do, and besides he never had smarts to begin with.

If anything, he can just leave them there. She wouldn’t even have to know who they were from…

“I’m sure your miss will enjoy them,” the charge nurse clucks merrily and directs him to a room in the intensive care unit.

Belle doesn’t belong there—that much is certain. Her bonnie face is far too pale, and the bruises have swollen to an ugly green. Her breathing comes out in a rasp, and he could barely make out the bird-like rise and fall of her chest.

He has never seen her so still…   

The room itself is white, sterile and bleachy. A wave of vertigo that washes over him because it is too much, _too much_ , like the last time he saw Daz. And in that moment of suspension, something in his chest twists horribly.

_Shaun?_

_Yes, mate?_

_I’ve had enough now._

_I know._

_Are you gonna stay this time?_

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says aloud, and there aren’t any words he knows that are truer. 

Then he places his flowers on a tiny dresser and settles in one of the hospital chairs.

 


	3. Alone Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments. They really made my day.

* * *

 

Shaun’s half done with breakfast by the time Daniel comes downstairs. He’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes when Shaun sets down a plate of eggs and sausages for him.

“Smells good,” says Daniel as he tucks in.

“There’s toast on the counter,” says Shaun, taking a bite for himself. “Been a while since we had a proper breakfast, eh?”

Their routine’s been a bit off-kilter since Daz’ passing, and there’s only so many times a bloke can get on with a cold bowl of cereal.

Daniel gives a nod and says, “Too right.”

Shaun runs the sink while glancing at the wall clock. If he left now, he’d still be able to make it to the hospital before his next shift.

“I’ll be back home tonight. Remember to do the wash.”

“Where’re you off to so early?”

Shaun rinses his hands as he considers telling Daniel everything. He knows that he should, but he doesn’t know where to begin. But…it’s not just that, is it? If he were truly honest, it’s because he wants to keep Belle to himself. Just for a wee bit longer—even if it does make him feel like a needy wanker. He’ll tell Daniel soon enough.

“It’s a long story,” he says finally.

“Wot? Got a bird I don’t know about?”

“…mind your business.”

 “Wait. _Do_ youhave a bird I don’t know about?”

“Remember to do the wash,” Shaun says over his shoulder as he makes a hasty exit out the front door.

“You can’t do that mate,” Daniel calls after him, his mouth still half full. “You’ll tell me about her later, yeah?”

Shaun doesn’t make any promises.

***

Of course the sky takes a pish all over the city by the time he gets off the bus. It’s a several yards walk to the hospital’s main building and Shaun has no doubt that he’ll be as wet as a gutter rat by the time he gets there.  

He remembers one particular afternoon where the weather was just like this—buckets of the stuff pourin’ everywhere. His denims were soaked right up to the knee and it had taken all morning for the water to stop dripping behind his ears.

Even so, Belle came ‘round like she always did. Her posh clothes and paperbacks miraculously looking no worse for wear.

She carried no umbrella and her dark hair was even darker from the rain. He remembers wondering what it would feel like to run his hands through it…to comb its length with the tips of his fingers...to pull it off to one side so he could rest his scruffy chin against her delicate neck…

Then he chokes off the thought like a leaky spigot. Shite, he really _was_ a needy wanker.

At last, he makes it past the entrance and tries not to make a show of wringing out his manky shirt and jacket at the door. It’s mad really, seeing that Belle was _bleeding unconscious_ and wouldn’t give a fig if he was doused or dry. Just as he’s wondering if he should ask for a towel, the charge nurse comes clucking at him from down the hall.  

“It’s about _time_ you got here,” she says, shaking her head like he was tardy for class.

“Eh?”

“It’s your miss,” she says impatiently. _His_ miss? “Belle French. She’s awake.”

***

Shaun’s nerves are all but shot by the time he reaches Belle’s room. There is a lump in his throat that he thinks might be his heart, and the sweat coming off him only saturates his already wet clothes. If Daz were here…

_Quit fecking around, Shaun._

_I can’t do this._

_You can’t or you **won’t?**_

_I don’t know…_

_Fer Chrissake, Shaun. Grow a cock. She’s not Katy._

_This isn’t about Katy._

_It’s **always** been about Katy._

_Piss off._

_Hah! **There** you are. Go on, then._

Shaun grits his teeth at the surge of irritation that follows—but at least he’s no longer caught in a spell of paralysis. Christ, he’s never felt this wrecked since his exams in secondary…So with the conviction of a man facing the gallows, Shaun squares his shoulders and mutters a brief “fuck it” before barreling in.

Then everything stops, like the ringing silence after a crescendo.

_It’s her_ , he thinks.

It’s Belle. Alive and awake and pressing her nose into his little of bouquet of violets. One of the nurses had thought to put them in a vase so they wouldn’t wilt. He would have to remember to thank them later. If he could remember how to move…or talk…

“It’s you,” she says, turning to him, her voice slow and soft from disuse.

It sounds beautiful to him, nonetheless.

Belle shifts in her bed and Shaun rushes to her side on instinct.

“Steady now,” he murmurs. She shouldn’t be _moving_ …

Then she smiles at him—that smile that seemed to soothe every ache in his body. He didn’t realize how much he missed it until now.

Then she reaches out, her wee hand gently taking his mangled one. “Hello…Shaun.”

 


	4. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a little bit of longing between these two precious souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos! I really do treasure every one <3

* * *

 

“Are you all right?”

It’s a long moment before Shaun realizes he’s been gaping at her like some dobber in secondary who’s just seen his first pair of knockers. _He_ should be the one asking her that question, not the other way around!

“Sorry,” he says, and wishes he could say something more intelligent.

Christ, how long has it been since he had a _proper talk_ with a woman? Not that he has much material to work with, unless one counted his paltry tales of night shifts, night classes and nights spent at the hospital for this reason or that.

“Sorry,” he says again, as though Belle can hear the anxious litany inside his head.

“What for?” she says.

And when she squeezes his mangled hand again, he swears he can feel—though he knows it’s impossible—a warm thrill sing throughout his dead nerves. 

When was the last time someone reached for him like this? Without the sting of accusation? Without the pang of disappointment?

“It’s just…I’m not sure how to…” And he draws up short, because he doesn’t know what he _wants_ much less how to ask for it.

But Belle, miracle that she is, seems to understand. Because those blue eyes of hers warm up in a way that makes him think of still waters, wooden docks and summer afternoons.

How was it possible for someone to be so trusting? To look at someone like him like she can only see what’s good, and not what’s broken?

“It’s me who should be sorry,” she says. “I’m making everything so terribly awkward aren’t I? And we haven’t even been properly introduced.”

No, they haven’t. But Shaun is still staggered that Belle knows him enough to call him by name.

“I _do_ know you,” she says, like she’s reading his mind. “From the coffee shop. You always know how I like my tea.”

“Earl grey. Honey with milk,” he repeats, his color rising as she gifts him with another warm smile.

“Can I ask you something?” she says. “Only…I hope I’m not being too forward.”

“Anything.”

“At the coffee shop… whenever I saw you, I always felt like you wanted to _say something_ to me. Or, maybe you were waiting for me to say something first? But I didn’t know what.” She shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m not making much sense. These drugs aren’t really helping.”

She nods weakly at the bag of dripping fluids and, though he knows she means it to be a joke, all Shaun can think of was the danger she was in that terrible night.

“I talked with the police,” she says, before he can say anything else. “They came here before you did to talk about the night I…I was mugged.” Then she shudders like a fawn in winter, and it’s all Shaun can do to not hold her close. Instead, he cups his good hand over hers in a meager gesture of solace. “They…they took everything. Even my mother’s necklace. The only reason anyone knew me at all was because of you.”

“But you must have someone?” It didn’t seem right. That Belle should be all alone.

She stiffens. “Well…there is my father. But he and I…we aren’t…”

A soft knock at the door snatches both of their attention. Shaun turns around, expecting one of the nurses. Instead he sees a harried-looking man, a little heavyset, with a stern expression to match his starched shirt and dark suit. The bouquet he’s holding is much larger than Shaun’s. About a dozen freshly cut roses, at least.

Belle’s hand goes absolutely limp, eyes wide with shock.    

“Dad…” she whispers. 


End file.
